


perfect somehow

by kelidahauk



Series: crow black dreams [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Injury Recovery, Intimacy, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Possessive Kageyama Tobio, Possessive Tsukishima Kei, Protective Kageyama Tobio, Sickfic, Torture, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, Tsukishima Kei is a Little Shit, foes to hoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelidahauk/pseuds/kelidahauk
Summary: 'I love you, you asshole,' he thinks, but he doesn't say it.  The words are unnecessary.This is a series of intimacy drabbles gifted to my beloved yakuza au fans for Tsukikage Day, 11/9/2020.  I love you all, endlessly.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Series: crow black dreams [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845355
Comments: 16
Kudos: 113





	1. new and strange

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this list of intimacy prompts [here](https://twitter.com/kelidahauk/status/1324099720206295047) and decided that trying to write fluff might be a fun experiment to break me out of my 5+1 fic funk (still working on it, it may break me, but I'm going to make it my bitch eventually). I think it's working! These were fun as hell to write and as I continued, they kept getting longer and longer... whoops. Each chapter stands alone.
> 
> True to my brand, I did my best to smut them up, LOL. I have noted where I imagine each little drabble falling within the crow black dreams timeline, because they're just basically a bunch of little scenes straight from my brain. They're rough and unbeta'd, but I hope you enjoy them anyway!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: laying with head on shoulder  
> For Kala
> 
> This chapter takes place before ["every night I burn"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25299055).

Tobio is not a good cook, but he can feed himself. He taught himself out of necessity, learning through trial and error and internet videos. He doesn’t like crowds, so he doesn’t frequent restaurants; he doesn’t like anyone knowing where he lives, so he doesn’t order takeaway. Instead, he goes to the market once a week, always at a different time of day, and he buys rice and noodles, fish and eggs, vegetables and milk. In his tiny kitchen, he chops vegetables while the fish grills and the rice steams. He’s got protein, carbohydrates fat; he doesn’t need variety. Food is fuel.

Tsukishima is not a good cook, but he can’t really feed himself, either. He’s propped up on the couch, swaddled in blankets, looking like death warmed over. It’s the morning after he was attacked, and it’s clear he’s in pain. Tobio has just explored the kitchen, utterly confused at its contents. The cupboards are mostly bare, other than a couple of boxes of western-style cereal and several bottles of hard liquor. The fridge is virtually empty, save for a case of beer and a carton of eggs. He comes out to ask Tsukishima where the food is, and the pretty boy lawyer that he has been assigned to bodyguard scowls at him.

“Order something if you’re hungry,” he says, his voice sharp. “That’s what I do.”

Tobio is appalled. He does not want to order anything, because then he will either have to go out and pick it up, or someone will have to learn where Tsukishima lives in order to deliver it. Neither one of those options are acceptable, so Tobio does the only thing he can think of: he sends a text-message to Suga-san and asks for groceries. An hour later, a shatei delivers an armful of brown paper bags that contain everything they’ll need for the next week.

Tsukishima looks confused when Tobio walks back into the living room, bags in his arms. He had been sleeping on the couch in a seated position, but the sound of the bags rustling must have awoken him. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it. He closes his eyes, too, breathing heavily. Tsukishima looks like death, like telling Tobio to order takeaway took every bit of his energy. And it’s no wonder; he’s skin and bones, and he can’t heal like that.

Tobio takes the groceries into Tsukishima’s kitchen and puts them away. He prepares a pot of rice, steams some broccoli, and grills some fish. A bowl in each hand, he pads to the couch, where Tsukishima is dead to the world. He watches him for a moment to make sure he is not _actually_ dead, and then he pokes one of Tsukishima’s feet with his own socked toes.

“Wake up,” he says. “You need to eat.”

Tsukishima starts, immediately hissing in pain at having moved so quickly. When he realizes Tobio is the inadvertent source of his pain, he glares at him. Tobio is unmoved, and he holds the bowl out where the shingiin can easily grab it. 

“Eat,” he orders again, his tone brooking no argument. 

Tsukishima takes the bowl and the chopsticks Tobio mutely extends to him. He stares blankly at the food, and Tobio is quickly becoming tired of this dumbass who can’t take care of himself.

“It’s food,” he says, as patiently as he can. “Put it in your mouth. Chew. Swallow.”

If looks could kill, Tobio would be dead a hundred times over. Fortunately, he is the picture of health and this blond-headed beanpole, for all he killed a trio of his attackers, is in no shape to threaten him. Tsukishima instead angrily scoops up rice and stuffs it in his mouth. Satisfied, Tobio nods once before lifting his own chopsticks. Tsukishima lofts a brow, watching him, as he chews and swallows.

“Are you just going to stand there to eat, like an asshole?” he asks, picking up a piece of fish this time.

“You’re an asshole,” Tobio automatically replies, before Tsukishima’s words register. _I’m your shugosha now,_ he thinks, _where else would I go?_

Tsukishima answers his unspoken question, gesturing very rudely with the chopsticks to the space on the couch beside him. 

“Sit,” he orders. “You look like an idiot, hovering like that.

Tobio looks at the couch, then back at Tsukishima. He’s new to this whole bodyguard thing, but in his very limited experience, a shugosha usually stands behind their charge, silently watching. He’s allowed to stand in front of him to protect him, and surely feeding him counts as protecting Tsukishima, right? Either way, sitting next to him surely can’t be protocol. As Tobio ponders what he should do, Tsukishima scowls at him.

“Sit,” he says again. “You’re bothering me like that.”

 _Fuck it,_ Tobio thinks, _it’s not like Suga-san is here to see. Anything to shut this motherfucker up._

He turns to sit on the couch next to Tsukishima, a little surprised at how he sinks into the cushions. It’s more comfortable than it looks, and Tobio wiggles a bit as he settles in. Next to him, the shingiin continues to eat, picking lightly at the food inside his bowl. Tobio studiously ignores him as he begins to eat his own meal in earnest. Tsukishima is quiet, finally, and Tobio finds the soft clicking of chopsticks to be soothing. For the first time since he found Tsukishima in the alleyway, clinging to life, he relaxes.

Tobio relaxes so much that he almost begins to doze off, his empty bowl resting on his lap. He catches himself before he can fall asleep, frowning at himself; as Tsukishima’s shugosha, it’s his duty to stay vigilant. It doesn’t matter that he’s been awake for almost two whole days — all that matters is that he performs his job effectively. 

He glances at Tsukishima to see if he noticed his lapse in vigilance, and that’s when he realizes that the shingiin has also passed the fuck out out. His bowl is still half-full, and it’s tilted precariously on his lap. Tobio rescues it immediately, because he doesn’t want yet another fucking mess to clean up, and he leans forward to set both bowls on the coffee table in front of them. If Tsukishima is asleep, perhaps Tobio can also take a nap. He’s in the perfect position to protect his charge if someone tries to sneak in while they rest.

It seems like barely a moment passes between the time Tobio has that thought and when he wakes up, blinking his eyes in the now-darkened loft. It’s clear from the dim light coming in through the wall of windows that the entire day has passed, and Tobio briefly panics. He turns his head to make sure Tsukishima is still alive, and that’s when he becomes aware of two things: one, that motherfucker is thankfully still breathing. And two, he’s moved in his sleep, and he’s now slumped over on Tobio’s shoulder.

The Black Dog of Karasuno is a sniper, not a cuddler. This is an altogether new and strange situation he’s found himself in. Tsukishima’s practically face-planted on his collarbone, and when Tobio turns to look at him, blond curls tickle his nostrils. As if on reflex, he breathes in deeply, catching hints of bergamot mixed with sweat. It’s a unique odor and Tobio immediately memorizes it, filing it away for later. 

He knows he should move, that he should wake the shingiin up and force him to actually go to bed rather than sleep upright on the couch. But for some reason, Tobio finds himself immobilized, unwilling to move from this position. He remembers their first meeting, Tsukishima’s golden eyes glinting at him in the bar; he thinks of the agonizing motorcycle ride home, Tsukishima flirting with him on the back of the bike. And then he thinks about finding him last night in the alley, the fleeting fear he experienced before realizing that this tenacious motherfucker was still alive.

Greatly daring, Tobio turns his head again, allowing himself to breathe in that scent once more. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but he’s glad that this asshole lawyer didn’t die. Closing his eyes, Tobio lets his head fall against Tsukishima’s. He tells himself that he’s doing the shingiin a favor, letting him sleep like this; he tells himself that he’s doing his job, keeping Tsukishima close enough to protect.

He can’t make himself believe it, but he enjoys it while it lasts.


	2. shut up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: kisses when mad  
> For Yaminefts
> 
> Gabi is a brilliant artist who has tons of beautiful TKKG arts on her Twitter! [Go follow her here.](https://twitter.com/Tsukikages1)
> 
> On your request, Gabi, here's Tobio shutting Kei up in the best possible way :)
> 
> This chapter takes place sometime after ["every time we touch it's dangerous"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376229) but before ["trust in me and fall as well."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653729/chapters/65000653)

“You’re a fucking moron,” Kei drawls into his phone as he lets himself into their loft. 

From his vantage point on the couch, Tobio watches as he kicks his shoes off in frustration. His face is scrunched up in a scowl as he stalks into the living area, clearly aggravated all to hell by whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying. The collar of his shirt is open one button more than normal and his hair stands up in tiny little tufts, as if he’s been tugging at it in all directions. Tobio feels himself pouting, because these are the tell-tale signs that Kei has had a shitty day at the office.

“I fucking told you, you piece of shit, that’s a no-go. You’re wasting my goddamn time.” 

There’s silence again, as Kei’s expression grows more and more infuriated. He slings his soft leather work bag onto the table before punching a button on his phone. Suddenly another voice comes through; Kei’s put whoever he’s talking to on speaker, so he can set the phone on the table and continue his ritual of shedding his work clothes. Tobio immediately tunes out the voice. He doesn’t recognize it and he doesn’t give a fuck who it is, because it’s clearly some assclown who’s not worth the patience that Kei is giving him.

Instead, he watches with intense interest as Kei pulls off his jacket, carefully draping it over the back of one of the chairs at the table. His back is turned toward Tobio now, who continues to stare as Kei shrugs out of his vest. Tobio is as fascinated by the movements of Kei’s shoulders under the fabric of his collared shirt as he is at the experience of hearing Kei rip someone else a new asshole. 

From this angle, he can clearly see the harness Kei wears that holds his knives at the small of his back, scout carry-style. There’s something about the juxtaposition of the blades, and his memory of what exactly Kei can do with them, against the crisp office wear that stirs something within him. Tobio’s on his feet before he realizes what he’s doing, moving silently across the room as Kei unbuttons and begins to roll up the sleeves on his shirt. 

Tobio hooks his fingers into the harness and jerks Kei towards him. His forever burden lets out an undignified squawk as he is yanked backwards against his chest, fighting to keep his balance. The knives in their sheathes press against Tobio’s stomach; he presses against Kei’s ass, swiveling his hips slightly as he does so. 

“Asshole,” Kei spits out, and Tobio’s not sure if it’s at him or at the person on the phone, who is still chattering away like they’re actually fucking worth something. He can feel himself grinning. 

The voice on the other end of the line clearly thinks it’s meant for them, because there’s a very apologetic _Tsukishima-san!_ before they continue ranting about cost-benefits analyses or whatever the fuck it is they’re trying to discuss with his pretty boy lawyer. Tobio mouths at the nape of Kei’s neck, blond curls tickling his nose, as he reaches around to work at the buckle on the belt. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Kei growls as he spins around in Tobio’s arms, his voice pitched low.

Golden eyes glare down at him, and Tobio feels the heat in his stomach spread. He doesn’t bother trying to answer — he just continues his work, silently unbuckling Kei’s pants. He untucks the white collared shirt as he keeps his gaze fixed on Kei’s, reaching up to continue unbuttoning it. The row of buttons seems endless; it’s taking too fucking long to get the goddamn thing off. 

Karasuno’s Black Dog may be patient, but right now he _needs._ He scowls at Kei’s shirt like it’s personally offended him before fisting both of his hands in the collar. Tobio _yanks._

Buttons fly everywhere and Kei swears again, loudly. The voice on the phone begins to apologize again.

“This is not the _fucking time_ —” Kei begins, his face flushed with anger. 

Tobio jerks the shirt down, ripping it off Kei’s shoulders and tangling it around his elbows, trapping his arms behind him. He uses the shirt to bend Kei backwards, so he can lean forward to slam their lips together. It’s one of the best ways to shut him up, his pretty boy lawyer; his tirade is immediately cut off as Tobio kisses him, tongues clashing together, hot and slick.

When they at last come up for air, Kei opens his mouth as if he’s going to start bitching again, a flush high and bright on his cheeks. Tobio shakes his head adamantly, giving the phone a sideways glance. Kei presses his lips shut again, his nostrils flaring as he glares at Tobio. Despite the expression on his face, his own fingers are busy exploring under the hem of Tobio’s shirt. 

It’s a fun new challenge, staying quiet as Kei’s client continues rambling on the other end of the line — as their clothes fall to the floor, as they fall to the floor. They _mostly_ succeed.


	3. never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: lingering hugs  
> For TJ - go read their work [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsukkiNoNeko)  
>   
> and
> 
> Prompt: hugs from behind  
> For May
> 
> This chapter takes place sometime after ["every time we touch it's dangerous"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376229) but before ["trust in me and fall as well."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653729/chapters/65000653)
> 
> TW: This chapter has torture.

“When is the shipment coming in?” Kei asks for the third time, his voice calm and steady and commanding. 

He stands in the middle of an empty room buried underneath one of Karasuno-kai’s multiple casino locations, deep within the heart of Tokyo. The floor is concrete, cold; his voice echoes in it, bouncing off the cinder block walls. There’s a single, ominous drain in the middle of the floor, and a hose hangs from a stainless steel utility sink mounted on the otherwise bare walls. He’s not alone: Tobio is in the room with him, along with a random Seijoh Syndicate shatei they’d caught sniffing around their part of the docks.

The clumsy, unfortunate shatei is zip tied to a steel chair in the middle of the room, next to the drain. Kei stands before him, asking the questions, his face impassive. He’s wearing all black, a kimono tucked into hakama that exaggerate his already-long legs. His hair is spiked into little tufts, the only indication of the day’s stress. His eyes and voice and demeanor are utterly relaxed and uncaring as he interrogates the man.

Tobio stands behind the shatei, carefully watching Kei, listening to the lilt of his voice and studying the gleam in his golden eyes. He’s in his killing gear, black tactical clothing, but he’s not wearing his hood and facemask — this shatei is never leaving the room, even if he hasn’t yet realized it. Tobio is completely unconcerned about showing his face, and he knows how much Kei enjoys watching him as he works.

When the shatei fails to answer, Kei tilts his head in Tobio’s direction. With a swift jerk, Tobio breaks a third finger. The shatei screams as the sickening crack echoes through the room.

“We can do this all night,” Kei drawls, looking down at the man from his full height.

He’s crying, but just a little — the tears don’t usually start pouring out until Tobio involves his knives — and Kei looks utterly disappointed in his reaction.

“Shatei-chan,” he says, his voice soft. “It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better, I promise you.”

The idiot, who’s certainly braver than he is smart, has refused to give his name. It’s of no consequence; they don’t give a shit about his name. They just need to know when the syndicate is expecting their next cargo ship of weapons, because Karasuno-kai plans to swipe them out from right under their fucking noses. Kei’s threat lingers, but once again, the shatei refuses to speak.

Kei gives an exaggerated sigh and looks at Tobio knowingly. The hitokiri takes a step to the side, where the shatei can see him, and pulls out a wickedly-sharp knife. It’s one of the many blades Kei has gifted him over the years, and it’s favorite for the bit of nastiness that comes next.

“You know the story of the Black Dog, surely,” Kei continues, and his eyes lift to meet Tobio’s. “About how that asshole Seijoh Prince ordered his back flayed.”

Tobio takes his best menacing step toward the shatei, twirling the knife dramatically in his hand. “Yes,” he says, speaking for the first time. “They carved me up. I bled a lot. Everywhere. It hurt. A lot.”

The shatei shudders, perhaps as much from Tobio's tone as his words. 

“Should we show him what it feels like to be flayed, _Black Dog?_ ” Kei asks, emphasizing his assassin name. Tobio grins at him; he knows it’s unnerving to their victims, how the two of them play so well off of each other. The shatei watches them in mute horror, his eyes huge in his pale face.

“Yes,” Tobio answers. “It hurts very much. It will make him talk.”

“Maybe about this much, from his forearm,” Kei says, holding up his thumb and forefinger, looking through the space between them at the shatei. “Start small. He’ll be singing in no time.”

Tobio goes to make the first cut, and Kei holds his hand up again. “Do it where I can watch. I can’t see shit with his arm tied like that. I want to see him bleed, Tobi. You know what I like.”

“He will struggle,” Tobio observes casually. It’s all a part of their game; they’ve done this many times before. “I will fix that.” 

With his knife, he cuts the zip tie holding the shatei’s left arm to the chair. Swiftly and efficiently, before the man can even think of swinging at him, Tobio wrenches and dislocates the arm. The shatei screams in pain and Tobio brutally jerks his arm out to the side, displaying the flesh of his forearm to Kei. 

“Like this, shingiin?” he asks, making the first neat cut.

“Just like that, hitokiri,” Kei replies, his lips curling and his pupils dilating almost imperceptibly as he watches Tobio. 

By the time they get the information they need, there’s blood everywhere. It’s all over the knife and it’s smeared on Tobio’s bare forearms, all the way up to his elbows. There are even spatters on Kei, from when he got too close as Tobio made his more enthusiastic cuts. It’s to be expected; it’s why they wear all black to these little interrogation sessions, because it doesn’t stain easily. 

The shatei is nothing more than a moaning pile of flesh, useless and pathetic. Tobio feels nothing for him, for this Seijoh Syndicate foot soldier. _They’re all monsters,_ he thinks, _just like Oikawa. Worse than Kei. Worse than me. They brought this on themselves._

“It’s done,” Kei says, crossing his arms over his chest. A wide streak of blood smears across his pale skin and Tobio watches with interest, his eyes trailing from Kei’s arm to his face. “You can end it now.”

Tobio grabs the shatei’s hair and jerks his head back. Without ever taking his eyes off of Kei’s, all half-lidded and heavy and honey gold, he slashes his blade neatly across the man’s throat, ending his life. They watch each other for a moment, in the space of a heartbeat, before Kei’s eyes crinkle just slightly at the corners. Tobio feels his own doing the same before he finally looks away, turning his attention back to his weapon. He wipes the blade on the hem of the man’s shirt, removing as much of the blood as he can. He’ll give it a proper cleaning once they return to their loft, after they bathe and eat. For now, it’s enough to get the worst of the mess off of it. 

Kei crosses to the utility sink and turns on the water. The sleeves of his kimono are hiked up to his shoulders; he’d tied them about halfway through, before the blood really started to fly. The water pours over his hands as he scrubs, and Tobio’s captivated by the sight of it. Kei turns his slender fingers over and over underneath the water, twisting them this way and that. Tobio automatically pictures them wrapped around the grip of a sword, wrapped around the base of his cock. 

He crosses the room, leaving the corpse behind him, and grabs Kei’s hips. Digging his fingers into the rough linen fabric of the hakama, he pulls Kei back against him. He’s in close enough proximity that the movement doesn’t detract from the handwashing, and he can see pink swirl down the drain.

“What are you doing?” Kei asks, his voice low. 

He doesn’t sound irritated, as Tobio half-expected. There’s a rough quality to it, and a sincerity to the question. Kei doesn’t stop his methodical movements as he cleans the blood off himself, nor does he seem to care that Tobio’s hands, much bloodier than his own, are gripping his hips.

“Touching you, dumbass,” Tobio says, snaking his arms around Kei’s waist. 

“No shit,” Kei says, but he nevertheless rearranges himself so that he’s somehow leaning back against Tobio, who easily supports his weight. “Why, Tobi? What do you want?”

The tone of his voice belies his expectation; so many times after this, they’ve wound up fucking on the floor or against the wall. This time, Tobio just tightens his arms, burying his nose at the nape of Kei’s neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the omnipresent scent of copper. It hangs hot and thick in the air but he still catches traces of bergamot underneath the smell of blood. His lips part and he strokes his tongue across skin, tasting salt. Kei shivers and Tobio squeezes him tighter.

“You,” he says simply, taking another deep, open-mouthed breath.

Kei makes a guttural sound deep in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t turn around. Instead, he relaxes even further into Tobio’s arms, placing still-wet hands over his bloodstained ones. Tobio closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth against his body in the otherwise frigid room.

“Okay,” Kei answers, taking in a ragged breath of his own. There’s a pause, before he asks, “Do you want to fuck?”

“Yes,” Tobio answers fervently, slipping one of his hands up and inside the folds of Kei’s kimono. 

There’s a low chuckle and Tobio feels Kei’s abdomen shake under his grip. “I need to turn around, Tobi. Let me go.”

“No,” Tobio says, squeezing him hard around the waist, refusing to release him. “Never, Kei. Never.”


	4. mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: kissing scars  
> For Mizeria
> 
> This chapter takes place shortly before ["trust in me and fall as well."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653729/chapters/65000653)

_I will never grow tired of this,_ Tobio thinks, as he looks at Kei stretched out before him in their big bed. 

His forever burden is lying on his stomach, his chin propped up on the pillow, the latest volume of Shingeki no Kyojin open before him. There’s a sheet carelessly thrown over him, and Tobio’s eyes follow the line of his long legs underneath it. 

_It’s mine, he’s all mine, and no one will ever take him away from me._

The thin fabric does little to hide the graceful curve of Kei’s thighs, but suddenly Tobio _needs_ to see that pale skin. He needs to touch him, to reassure himself that Kei is still there, that he is real. Tobio crosses the room swiftly and jerks the sheets down, so he can look and make sure.

“What the fuck, Tobi?” Kei snarls as he turns his head, scowling at him. 

Tobio doesn’t give him time to move; he’s on him in a flash, pinning Kei down to the bed. The manga falls aside, forgotten, as he fists his fingers through golden curls, burying his nose at the nape of Kei’s neck. Underneath him, Kei’s pushing up, trying to get leverage on his knees so he can rise and unseat him. Tobio simply flattens himself out more, huffing softly to himself as Kei curses his dead weight, mouthing at the exact spot where the blond hair turns into peach fuzz.

His mouth drifts further down, and Kei stills underneath him, as if he’s no longer interested in fighting. Tobio finds his hands moving, too, releasing Kei’s hair; he braces them on either side of his shoulders instead, pushing up off the bed so he can scoot down more easily. His lips drift across the crow irezumi spread across Kei’s shoulder blades and he uses his tongue to outline the katana it clutches in its talons. Beneath him, Kei shudders. Beneath the crow and the katana, at the base of Kei’s spine, sprouts of a field of sunflowers. 

_Because he’s a lawyer,_ Tobio thinks as he nuzzles each one, _because he’s my pretty boy lawyer._

Between them, bridging the distance between the two separate pieces and uniting them together, rises a whole host of fireflies. 

_Because of his name,_ Tobio knows, _because he’s my Kei._

He places a kiss upon each firefly. Some of them are rougher under his lips than the others, and Tobio pays special attention to those, flicking them with the tip of his tongue. The scars they hide are cigarette burns, pressed on a defenseless child’s back. If Kei hadn’t already killed his father, Tobio would have gladly done it for him. He cannot take the memories away, or the pain; all he can do is make sure no one has the chance to mark him again. He is his shugosha, after all; it’s his duty.

“Hurry up and fuck me,” Kei demands, and even though his voice sounds irritated, Tobio recognizes the warmth in it. 

_I love you too, you asshole,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. The words are unnecessary.

Tobio simply hums his assent into Kei’s skin, his lips curving into an invisible smile as he focuses on the next firefly. Kei can wait. There’s still more to go. Tobio will never grow tired of this, torturing Kei with his lips and his hands and his tongue; he continues on relentlessly, his forever burden squirming underneath him. 

_Mine,_ Tobio thinks again, before he gives Kei what he wants. He always does.


	5. I want everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: glancing at lips  
> For Greeny - go read their work [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenyLove)  
> and 
> 
> Prompt: sharing drinks  
> For Jules - go read their work [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxjules)
> 
> This chapter fleshes out a small scene from ["trust in me and fall as well."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653729/chapters/65000653)

“These clothes are stupid,” Tobio grumbles, a pout on his lips.

Kei stands before him, slender fingers deftly buttoning up the shirt his guard dog is wearing. It’s a deep, rich blue that nearly matches the color of his eyes; it’s woven of a silk that feels nearly as soft as his hair. It fits him like a fucking glove, and Kei’s fingers linger as they smooth the fabric over his skin, adjusting it so it rests perfectly across Tobio’s broad shoulders.

“These clothes are appropriate,” Kei says, placing his hands on his hips as he surveys Tobio.

The shirt is open at the collar, one button too many; blackwork peeks out from underneath it, the wing of a crow swooping across Tobio’s chest. Kei fights the urge to reach out and trace it with a finger. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Tobio’s got a shoulder harness on. This one is leather instead of the normal tactical weave he wears with his killing gear, soft and supple black straps securing two guns where they’re within easy reach. The shirt is tucked into perfectly-tailored black slacks that hug powerful thighs, and although his shoes are more practical than fancy, they work with the rest of the outfit.

It’s a rare occasion when the Black Dog has to put on nice clothing, but this is the grand opening of Karasuno’s fourth casino location and Kei’s practically the guest of honor. His shugosha has to attend with him, and his killing gear is utterly inappropriate for such a swanky affair. Kei’s dressed similarly, in charcoal gray slacks and black-and-gray pinstriped shirt, and he’s well aware of exactly how striking they look together. 

_ Like night and day, _ he thinks, his eyes fixated on the bit of the crow’s wing he can see.  _ Light and dark. Moon and shadow. Perfect together. _

“They offer no protection,” Tobio protests, tugging at his shirt again. 

Kei reaches out and snags his fingers before they can crush the silk. “You don’t whine this much when we have to put on traditional wear. What’s the fucking difference?”

Tobio levels his gaze at Kei, his deep blue eyes appraising. “You don’t wear underwear under your kimono.”

Kei coughs, feeling his face flush, and Tobio continues.

“With traditional wear. You can just sit on my lap. Sit on my cock,” he says, nonplussed, as if he’s not absolutely murdering Kei with his words. “A kimono is like the robe. That goddamn Versace robe. I can just open mine. And I can just open yours. And then you can just sit--”

“I get the picture, Tobi,” Kei says, turning away. 

It’s difficult, but he does it because otherwise they’ll miss the fucking grand opening. There’s no time to spare. And Kei has already resolved himself: when he takes these clothes off Tobio, he’s going to do it  _ slowly.  _

The casino is already popping when they arrive, fashionably late, and Kei greets familiar faces as he weaves through the crowd. Behind him, Tobio is an ever-present shadow dogging his steps, lurking silently. He’s given a wide berth, Kei’s shugosha; the Black Dog is infamous in the underworld and kyodai are wise to fear him. They make their way to the bar, where they’re served two glasses of Sawamura’s favorite fucking whiskey. Kei takes an appreciative sip, and Tobio mimics him, trying not to curl his lips in disgust. He may not like drinking, but he’s learned how to do so in order to blend in with the crowd. A drunken Tobio is a pliable Tobio, and Kei grins as he watches him drink because that bodes well for his later plans.

His heart is full as he leans back against the bar, watching the fruit of his labors spring to life before him. There’s a strong sense of satisfaction he gains from watching his plans unfold, from seeing them develop and grow into something like this. Tobio leans next to him, also watching the crowd, his eyes sharp as he scans for potential threats. He’s here for Kei, he’s here  _ with  _ Kei to celebrate even when situations like this make him uncomfortable. Tonight, Kei feels like he’s on top of the fucking world with Tobio at his side. 

_ Perfect together,  _ he thinks again, even if he’d never say it.

“It’s going good,” is what he does say, slanting his gaze over at Tobio. 

His shugosha raises his glass to take another sip of whiskey, and Kei’s eyes linger on his lips as he drinks. Tobio’s lips tend to default into a pout, especially when he’s put in situations he dislikes. But tonight they’re relaxed as he surveys the crowd in the casino. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and Kei gives an appreciative glance to his forearms as he drinks. Despite how much he’s enjoying watching the crowds work the casino, despite how pleased he is to think about how much money the house is making, Kei is overcome with the need to get Tobio by himself. He tries to control himself.

“Yes,” Tobio says simply.

Kei leads him through the crowd a second time, stopping to chat with Tanaka and Azumane, with Tendou and Shirabu, with Fukunaga and Yaku. He only half-ass pays attention to the conversations, because Tobio is always right there on the edge of his consciousness. Kei throws him furtive glasses as they mingle, his eyes lingering over the way the leather straps cross over his chest, the way he holds his glass of whiskey within his delicate, sniper’s fingers. When Kei empties his own glass, setting it on the tray of a passing cocktail waitress, Tobio smoothly passes his over. Kei watches him over the rim as he takes a sip, and a slight blush — surely indetectable to anyone who doesn’t  _ know _ the Black Dog as intimately as Kei — appears across his cheek, dusting the tip of his nose.

It’s hot in the casino and it grows hotter as Kei drinks, to the point where he thinks he’ll combust if he looks at Tobio in that shirt with those straps one more time. The need to see his work succeed is slowly but surely being replaced with a stronger need, one that’s always lurking in the back of his mind and in the bottom of his heart: the need to touch, to feel, and to make Tobio squirm. Kei leans forward over the bar, as if he’s reaching behind it for something; the position gives him a good excuse to brush past Tobio, so he can whisper next to his ear as he stretches.

“I want to fuck you on a pool table,” he murmurs, and to his credit Tobio doesn’t flinch.

“People would see,” he responds, the color rising higher on his face as Kei fishes for a bottle. “I do not want them seeing. You are only mine to see.”

“After they leave,” Kei says, wrapping his fingers around the neck of a bottle of tequila.

“So long,” Tobio says. “And you are impatient.”

His shugosha knows him too well. Kei straightens up and uncaps the bottle. Before he can pour a measure into his empty glass, Tobio takes it from him. He stares at Kei as he slowly, so slowly, lifts it to his lips. His throat bobs as he drinks, and Kei finds himself swallowing reflexively, his mouth suddenly dry. With a small smirk, Tobio offers the bottle to him. His steel blue eyes are hazy with just a little too much alcohol, his pupils blown wide with his own desire. Kei gives one last look to the crowd as he also tips the bottle back, feeling the liquid burn hot and harsh down his throat, where it settles like liquid fire in his belly.

“My office, then,” he says, and there’s a dangerous tilt to Tobio’s chin now. 

“Your office,” Tobio agrees, his eyes drifting down to settle somewhere in the vicinity of Kei’s thighs.

“The pool table—” he begins to say.

“In the morning,” Tobio responds. “Your desk, now.”

He screws the cap back on the bottle and begins to replace it behind the bar.

“No,” Tobio says. “Bring it. I want more.”

Kei raises a brow in a silent question and Tobio answers.

“I want everything,” he says.

“Then I’ll give it to you,” Kei says, lightly, turning on his heel to lead the way to his office. His heart is racing as he thinks of the bottle, and of Tobio on his desk, and of the promise of the pool table in the morning.

“You already have,” Tobio responds as he follows him, like always.


	6. treasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: running a finger down the spine  
> For Vera and Christy - go read their work [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flameoh)
> 
> This chapter takes place sometime after ["trust in me and fall as well"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653729/chapters/65000653) but before ["the end is all that's ever true."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818424)

Kei awakens suddenly, soaked in a cold sweat. He bolts upright in his bed, his chest heaving as he pants in the relative darkness of the loft. The vestiges of the nightmare that woke him from his slumber are lingering, filling him with a disquieting sensation as he tries to catch his breath, the panic slowly draining from his limbs. It’s already too late to recall what he was dreaming about, but it was so unsettling that he knows it has to be one of many memories; it makes no matter that he can’t point to the exact one, because so many of them are awful, anyway.

He raises a shaking hand to pull it through sweat-soaked curls. It’s a nervous habit, one that he’s never been able to get rid of; at the end of a stressful day, the pale strands of his hair stick up every which way, a veritable mess on the top of his head that clearly displays his mental state to anyone who is sharp enough to pick up on it. Tobio always does.

His beloved shugosha lays beside him in the bed, undisturbed by Kei’s nightmare. That’s a relief, at least; there’ve been too many nights where his involuntary cries have awoken Tobio, and Kei always feels a lingering sense of guilt when that happens. Somewhere, in the back of his head and locked away in his heart, Kei dreads the inevitable day where Tobio decides he’s sick of his shit, that he deserves a full night’s sleep, that he deserves someone who isn’t plagued by nightmares and anxiety.

Looking at Tobio helps calm him down, chasing away the ill feelings that still remain. He’s flat on his stomach, sprawled out on the bed like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s kicked the sheets off in his sleep, which is a normal thing for him: he runs hot and he makes the very best heater for Kei to cling to when he gets chilled. His skin is pale in the darkness, the limited light shining from the city highlighting the curve of his spine. 

The irezumi that once marked him as a member of the Seijoh syndicate is a ruined mess spread across his back, a dark shadow on an otherwise flawless form. Kei stares at it, his eyes tracing the thickened scars where his skin was slashed through, where chunks of it were peeled off. He knows that it was originally a dragon twining between branches of blue flowers, the symbol of the clan. It’s a nasty, twisted thing now, with shiny new flesh spread through it almost like polka dots. It took him so long to get used to seeing it, this manifestation of hate and greed. It used to cause him nothing but anger and rage, his hatred at Seijoh’s oyabun at the forefront of his thoughts. Even now, his heart still clenches when he looks at Tobio’s back — but it’s because he’s grateful, so grateful that Oikawa threw him away like trash, because  _ one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. _

Kei can’t help himself. He’s drawn to Tobi, to this ruined irezumi, like a moth to the flame. He places a gentle finger at the nape of Tobio’s neck and traces it down, stopping for a moment when he touches the first raised bit of flesh. He carefully studies his shugosha, who breathes deeply in his sleep, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth lax. Slowly, oh so slowly, Kei’s finger continues its downward path. He charts every last bump and ridge underneath his fingertip as it inches down Tobio’s spine, following the curve through the ink. His own breathing has slowed to match Tobio’s; the lingering sense of terror from his dream is gone, banished by this nighttime exploration. When his finger finally comes to rest at the base of Tobio’s spine, poised just above his ass, a sleep-roughened voice interrupts him.

“Kei,” Tobio says. 

It’s one word, just his name — but it’s said in such a manner that he is drawn, held captive by Tobio’s eyes. They’re sharply focused, not at all bleary with sleep, and his pupils are blown so wide that the blue is a mere sliver of a ring around them. 

“Tobio,” Kei answers, and he can hear his own voice hitch.

“You dreamed,” is all Tobio says, reaching out with both his hands.

“Yes. A bad one again,” he acknowledges, shivering as Tobio’s palms, hot and heavy, settle onto his own flesh. 

Kei hadn’t realized how cold he had gotten, the dried sweat leaving him clammy as he sits on top of the sheets. He allows himself to be drawn back down, as Tobio’s hands begin their own exploration — one decidedly less chaste than Kei’s trek down his spine.

“I will give you good ones, then,” Tobio promises, his voice determined.

“Bring it on,” Kei challenges him, grinning against Tobio’s lips. 

He does.


	7. the end of the line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: playing with hair  
> For Zei and Tobii
> 
> and ALSO
> 
> Prompt: wearing someone's clothes  
> For Misheehey
> 
> This chapter takes place sometime after ["trust in me and fall as well"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653729/chapters/65000653) but before ["the end is all that's ever true."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818424)

Kei realizes something is wrong when they’re getting dressed to go for their morning run. He’s got his compression leggings on already and he’s digging through the drawer, looking for his long-sleeved thermal shirt, when it dawns on him that Tobio is moving more slowly than normal. Neither one of them are morning people and they typically get ready to run in begrudging silence, but something just seems… off. 

Tobio’s sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping a pair of bright red athletic shorts over his own leggings. His cheeks are almost the same color as his clothing. Kei frowns as watches his beloved shugosha, taking in his color and his sluggish movements, processing the fact that he’s actually _sitting_ instead of standing gracefully on one foot to maneuver the clothing on.

“You’re sick,” he says. 

It’s a testament to exactly how shitty Tobio must be feeling that he only manages a half-hearted glare at Kei’s words. It quickly turns into a pout.

“I don’t get sick,” he responds flatly. “I am too healthy.”

“Bullshit,” Kei says, placing the back of his hand against Tobio’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

His shugosha always runs warm, but he’s much hotter than normal and clammy to the touch. His skin, where it’s not flushed, seems abnormally pale. Kei stands back and places his hands on his hips, looking down at Tobio with a frown. The Black Dog continues to pout up at him, that asshole, like this whole situation is somehow Kei’s fault.

“Go back to bed,” he says. “I’ll stop at the coffee shop and bring us some breakfast back.”

“No,” Tobio protests weakly, even as he shucks off the shorts, leaving them in a heap on the floor. “I am your shugosha. You cannot run without me.”

“Dumbass,” Kei says, bending down to help Tobio work the leggings off. They take considerably more effort than the shorts. “No one’s going to murder me on my morning run.”

“No,” Tobio says again, reaching out to grab onto Kei’s shorts. “Stay, Kesha. Don’t go.”

He’s so pathetic, looking up at him with reddened cheeks and feverish eyes, that Kei has to stifle a laugh. 

_I never thought I’d see the day he doesn’t want me to work out,_ he thinks, ludicrously. _He must really feel like shit._

Kei’s a godawful nurse, but he tries his best. He coaxes a shivering Tobio into a steaming-hot bath, where he convinces him to drink a glass of water and swallow some febrifuges. He helps towel him off and when Tobio refuses to get back in bed because _It’s not bedtime yet, Kesha,_ he finds him a pair of sweatpants and a tank top to put on. He’s still shivering, so Kei forces him into his old Stanford hoodie, too. It hangs on him, the faded burgundy sleeves falling down over his hands. Tobio glares down at the sleeves futilely, trying to push them back up on his wrists, as Kei gently leads him toward the couch. He traps him there underneath a blanket as Tobio continues to balefully regard the sleeves that keep falling down over his hands.

Kei doesn’t dare try to cook anything lest he set the fucking loft aflame — there’s a _reason_ Tobio is always the one who prepares their food — so he places an order for a later delivery on his phone before settling in on the couch, too. Tobio looks downright miserable at this point. Kei’s frozen heart fucking melts as he regards him.

“Come here, asshole,” he orders, holding his arms open.

“No,” Tobio says petulantly, but he obeys.

His intention is to drape his arm across Tobio’s shoulders and put on a movie they can watch. But the former assassin clearly has other ideas, because Tobio fucking climbs onto his lap. He clumsily arranges himself so he’s sitting sideways, his legs stretched out on the couch cushions. Kei grunts, because this motherfucker is _heavy_ with muscle and he is _not_ being half as graceful as he usually is, his limbs heavy with apathy and fever. Still, he does his best to accommodate his needy shugosha, wrapping his arms around his waist and rearranging the blanket over the both of them. Tobio leans his head against his shoulder, burying his face in the side of Kei’s neck.

“You’re going to get me sick, too.”

“Asshole,” Tobio grumbles, but the words carry no heat. “Put on a movie.”

“Which one?” Kei asks, his free hand already fumbling with his phone.

“Winter Soldier,” he says, like Kei should know.

It should be obvious — it’s Tobio’s favorite movie, and Kei knows it. He starts the stream and they both fall silent as it begins to play. Idly, Kei reaches a hand up to stroke Tobio’s hair.

It’s so different from his own, these fine strands of black silk. Kei never fails to marvel at the texture, soft and glossy as it slips through his fingers. It’s almost meditative, running his fingers through the dark locks. Tobio clearly thinks so too, because he makes soft sighs of contentment here and there throughout the movie, as Kei slowly cards his fingers through his hair. Near the end, he brushes Tobio’s bangs back from his forehead. It’s still warm, but Kei thinks it’s cooler than it was earlier. The medicine is working.

“You’re my mission,” Tobio mumbles along with Bucky Barnes, his voice thick with sleep. He’s halfway out of it, and Kei regards him with disgust and fondness.

“I’m with you to the end of the line,” Kei informs him, echoing Steve Rogers as he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. 

It goes unheard, because Tobio’s dozed off. But the sentiment remains, coloring their relationship from now until forever.


	8. now and forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: falling into someone's arms  
> For Kageyamber - go read her work [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handbagmarinara)
> 
> This chapter takes place sometime after ["trust in me and fall as well"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653729/chapters/65000653) but before ["the end is all that's ever true."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818424)

The bullet slices out of nowhere, smashing into the street before them and ricocheting with a spray of asphalt. Kei jerks backward, but Tobio’s there by the time he can react. He’s already got his hand on the back of Kei’s neck and he forces him down into a crouch as he does his best to hover over him. 

_ Fucking bean pole, _ he thinks to himself as his sharp blue eyes scan the roof tops, searching for the sniper. Kei’s legs, long and pale and lovely, are his favorite thing — when Tobio’s not trying to provide bodily cover, that is. Then they’re just fucking annoying, as annoying as the goddamn monkey suit that Tobio’s been forced to wear into the courtroom. He wishes desperately for his killing gear and for a gun, rather than the tailored black monstrosity he’s wearing. He feels naked.

It’s a bright day in Tokyo, just before lunch. They’ve been at the courthouse since the early morning hours while Kei presented a case. The judge had just announced a recess, and Kei had located Tobio in the crowd of spectators, nodding at his shugosha to meet him outside. Tobio was looking forward to some pork curry from a local yatai, but now it seems like lunch is off the table. 

There had been plenty of people outside, milling about and enjoying the sunshine, but now they’re screaming and running away, hiding behind cars and flower pots and fancy sculptures. Tobio doesn’t allow Kei to move; he holds him still underneath his fingers, shielding him with his own body, until he locates the tell-tale glint of light off a scope. And there — there’s another one. 

“Fuck,” he swears, and then his fingers are digging into the back of Kei’s jacket, pulling him up. 

They’re going to have to run further than he had hoped when he had planned for this contingency. There’s a car waiting for them two blocks north, but one of the snipers has that route cut off. The other one is between them and Tobio’s first weapons cache. His brain instantly visualizes their third path, assuring him it’s clear, so Tobio gets moving. The Black Dog of Karasuno is in charge now, and this is his element.

“How many?” Kei asks, his voice remarkably calm as he allows Tobio to shove him down the street toward a side alley, away from the mad dash of citizens. His absolute trust in Tobio, his complete lack of fear in a situation that would bring most men to their knees, makes something spark in the hitokiri’s lower belly. He finds himself grinning as they run, as he answers Kei.

“At least two,” he says easily, “probably more.”

“They want me off the case,” Kei says, his long legs stretching into a run as they pound down the street. Tobio keeps pace easily, his eyes darting this way and that, constantly alert for danger. “I’m going to win.”

“No shit,” Tobio answers. It’s a given.

Neither one of them can stand to lose, so it just makes logical sense that Kei will, of course, win this high-profile trial. Tobio cannot recall him ever losing a case; Karasuno’s infamous hitokiri is feared on the streets, but their shingiin is a holy terror in the courtroom. Kei had been on fire this morning, ripping into the prosecution with his characteristic acid tongue. Tobio can’t wait to wrap his own tongue around it, later. His thoughts are interrupted by another bullet, and it’s Kei who swears this time. 

“We gotta kill them, Tobi.”

“No shit,” he says again, ignoring the rush of affection that flows through his chest at Kei’s words, at the fact that the shingiin implicitly understands what needs to be done. “Up,” he orders, grabbing Kei’s forearm and twisting, shoving him toward a fire escape. 

Tobio darts to a nearby dumpster and reaches behind it, into the crevice formed between the rusted metal and the brick wall. His fingers fumble until they touch smooth fiberglass, and he withdraws one of his .380s. Kei leaps and grabs onto the fire escape, successfully avoiding the first few rungs, as Tobio spins around with the gun in his hand. He plants himself at the bottom of the ladder, legs spread and the .380 cradled in both hands. Without hesitation, Tobio fires back in the general direction the bullet originated from. He knows he won’t hit anything, but this is the most dangerous time for Kei, alone and exposed while he climbs. It’s Tobio’s job to lay down cover fire to protect him, since he can’t wrap his body around him as he ascends to the relative safety of the rooftop and to the support of their weapons cache.

“Up,” Kei orders, his voice cutting through the gunfire from somewhere far above Tobio. 

Smoothly, he reholsters his gun and launches himself at the fire escape. There’s a steady  _ rat-tat-tat  _ of a gun from above him, and Tobio knows without looking that Kei is peeking over the parapet wall of the roof, shooting the other .380 that was secreted up there. His forever burden is shit with a gun, but he’s doing his best to lay down his own cover fire for his shugosha. Tobio pictures long, slender fingers wrapped around the grip, pulling the trigger in his defense. He banishes the thought immediately and takes in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He can feel his heart racing. 

_ After, _ he thinks,  _ not now. Kill them, first. _

Tobio rolls onto the rooftop next to Kei, who is now sitting with his back against the parapet wall. The long, black, waterproof box is open and Tobio sees his very favorite gun nestled within. He can feel his lips curl into a smile as he reaches for his sniper rifle, a custom bolt-action Lobaev SVL. It’s one of several that he stashed in various locations around the courthouse, ready and waiting in case they needed it. Next to it in the box are two of Kei’s katanas and a few knives. They’re prepared to fuck shit up.

There’s a rattle of metal, and Kei’s eyes look past Tobio to focus on the fire escape. Tobio turns and lifts his rifle, nestling the butt firmly against his shoulder. He rests back on his heels, bracing himself in the seiza position so most of his body is still protected by the parapet wall. It’s not a sniper who emerges, but just a grunt in plainclothes. The man has just enough time to look at them in horror before Tobio gently depresses the trigger. The 408 cheytac rips through his face and it disappears in a spray of red and gray matter before the body falls.

“That’s one,” Kei says, and Tobio hears him unsheath one of his katanas. “Are we going to take them all here, then?”

“Let them come,” Tobio says, his eyes focused on the ladder as he speaks. “There is no other egress. Make the call.”

Behind him, as Tobio steadies his gun at the single point of entry to the rooftop, Kei begins talking into his phone. There’s a pause, and Tobio automatically spits out the coordinates of their location without being prompted for them. Kei repeats the numbers, and then there’s silence again.

“They’re coming to set up a perimeter,” Kei says. “Yacchan’s going for the other snipers.”

“Good,” Tobio says, and they lapse into silence.

He shoots four more men before Tanaka’s voice echoes in the alley underneath them. 

“All clear,” the kyodai bellows, and behind him Tobio can hear Kei give a world-weary sigh. 

“He’s so fucking loud,” Kei says, and Tobio nods his agreement as he rises to his feet for the first time since they reached the rooftop.

Kei’s also standing, the grip of one katana in his left hand, the other one still-sheathed and held in his left. Tobio lowers his sniper rifle as he faces him and they just look at each other wordlessly for a moment. In the aftermath of the attack, Kei looks tired and vulnerable for the first time that day. It makes Tobio’s heart ache to see him like that, his confidence gone as he inevitably begins to retrace their steps, to determine where he fucked up, even though he didn’t. Very carefully, Tobio places the Lobaev back in its case. He crosses over to Kei in three short steps. 

“Dumbass,” he says, reaching out to grab Kei’s tie. 

It’s some paisley print, dark blues and greens that match perfectly with his navy three-piece suit, but Tobio doesn’t give a fuck about shit like that. He’s Kei’s shugosha, which means his job is to protect him from motherfuckers who shoot at them… but it also means he has to protect Kei from  _ himself _ , from his stupid broken brain that makes him think the most awful shit, that makes him doubt his own abilities. 

Tobio takes this part of his job very seriously. He wraps his fingers around Kei’s tie and jerks, the noose tightening around Kei’s long neck even as it drags them together. It draws a startled squawk out of the blond pretty boy and Tobio is pleased. Kei’s foot catches on a crack in the rooftop and he stumbles, dropping both his swords to the ground as he falls into Tobio. He knows the actions are purposeful; Kei would never let go of his weapons.

“You  _ jackass _ —” Kei grumbles as both of Tobio’s arms wrap around him, keeping him upright.

His job is to protect Kei, to steady him. It’s his most sacred duty and Tobio pursues it as relentlessly as he pursues the targets he’s ordered to kill. In the courtroom and at the estates, Kei is in charge. When it comes to protecting Kei, Tobio takes command of the operation.

“Stop thinking,” Tobio orders him, and then he clamps his mouth on top of Kei’s.

He can feel the lawyer shake against him, trembling as the adrenaline leaves his body. Tobio licks his lips open, messily, thinking again of Kei’s fingers around the gun, around the grip of his sword. He remembers how quickly Kei reacted to that first shot, of how they worked so perfectly together to evade harm and to take out their assailants. He  _ doesn’t  _ let himself think of failure, of Kei lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He forces those thoughts aside like he forces Kei’s lips open, his willpower keeping the both of them upright as the implications of the attack sink into them.

“Tobio,” Kei murmurs against his lips, his voice shaking. “They’re waiting.”

The Black Dog of Karasuno doesn’t know if his forever burden is talking about Tanaka and the rest of the Karasuno-kai kyodai gathered in the alley below, ready to escort them to safety. He doesn’t know if Kei is talking about the men sent to kill him, who will undoubtedly try again and again until this trial is over, and maybe even afterward, just for vengeance. 

Tobio doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care, because he’s standing here with Kei in his arms and they’re both still alive and without a scratch, this time. They’re safe, because they’re smart and they planned for this bullshit well in advance, setting up escape routes and weapons caches and an extraction strategy.

“Let them,” Tobio says, and Kei’s suddenly kissing him back with a fervor. He closes his eyes and sinks into Kei’s lips. 

_ Let them wait, _ he thinks,  _ because I will keep you safe. _

_ Let them wait, _ he thinks,  _ because you are mine, now and forever, and I won’t let anyone fucking take you away from me. _


	9. I need you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: kissing their temple  
> For Phixuscarus
> 
> This chapter takes place directly before ["the end is all that's ever true."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818424)
> 
> [Phix](https://twitter.com/phixuscarus) has made beautiful Tsukikage art based on this yakuza au and you should go follow her immediately. Her art is absolutely gorgeous and it brings me life. You can see them here:
> 
> [a pretty boy lawyer and his precious, loved shugosha](https://twitter.com/phixuscarus/status/1320078965948567552)  
> ["Mine," mildly NSFW but not really](https://twitter.com/phixuscarus/status/1325100841913573376)  
> [this one is definitely NSFW; view through privatter](https://twitter.com/phixuscarus/status/1325554871492243456)

It’s another late night at Karasuno-kai’s flagship casino, counting profits and making projections for the next site. 

_Sometimes,_ Kei thinks as he rubs his forehead, _it feels like it will never end._

He can’t be angry about it, though, because the long hours only go to show how successful their business ventures have been. This is the part of the job Kei loves: making deals and watching his business, Karasuno’s business, grow. He’s their saiko-komon now, the oyabun’s most trusted advisor, entrusted with running the entire administrative branch of the family. It’s his job to handle the paperwork.

But on nights like this one, when he’s been buried under paperwork in his office for too long, Kei misses his days as a simple shingiin. He only goes to court now if the case is particularly difficult or if the defendant is one of Karasuno’s more prominent kyodai; otherwise, Shimizu-san takes care of the family’s legal troubles and Kei focuses on expanding their ever-growing empire. This current deal, negotiations with the Nohebi family, is slowly shaping up and Kei can’t wait to fucking nail it. It’s going to be huge. But he’s tired, and hungry, and he can work more on it tomorrow.

His phone makes a soft pinging sound as he leans back in his desk chair, stretching long arms, rolling his head from one side to the next. Kei picks it up and unlocks it, frowning as he notices the time. It’s fucking late. And of course, he’s missed a ton of messages, absorbed as he was in the paperwork. He scrolls through them, cringing a bit as he reads. He’s in trouble.

**Tobi [9:23p]:**  
It’s late. What’s taking you so long? Dinner is done.

**Tobi [9:45p]:**  
Your food is cold. It’s your own fucking fault. Don’t cry to me about it.

**Tobi [10:03p]:**  
Dumbass. Stop working and come home.

**Tobi [10:12p]:**  
How the fuck can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time? Learn how to set a goddamn alarm.

  
  


**Me [10:41p]:  
**Sorry. Almost done. Be there soon.

He’s shutting down his laptop and stacking file folders back into his inbox when the door to his office opens. Reflexively, Kei’s hands reach around his back to rest on the knives sheathed there. It’s a needless gesture, with security as tight as it is. Shatei are stationed up and down the hallway and he knows the only place safer is at home in Tobio’s arms. 

Except Tobio’s not home — he’s here, standing in the doorway and glowering. Kei sighs and stuffs his laptop into his bag, looking up at his angry shugosha once he’s zipped it up. He’s done this too often, lately, since he’s been trying to close this deal. The Black Dog of Karasuno is a creature of habit, and it irritates him to no end when Kei can’t follow a simple fucking schedule. He rubs his forehead again, opening his mouth to apologize, and suddenly Tobio is right in front of him. He catches Kei’s hand in his own, pulling it away from his temple. 

The glare is still on his face, but there’s no heat to his words when he says in the flat voice that Kei has grown to know and love, “Your head. It hurts. Again.”

When he thinks about it, he realizes it does. Kei feels his own lips twist into a scowl as he answers Tobio, lacing their fingers together. 

“I guess,” he says, reaching for Tobio’s other hand.

His shugosha ignores Kei’s hand, reaching out instead to smooth his hair carefully back from his face. Tobio’s touch is gentle as he brushes his fingertips across Kei’s forehead. It’s soothing, and Kei finds himself leaning forward, hungry for Tobio’s touch. 

“You should not stay here so long,” Tobio says, letting his fingers slip down Kei’s cheek, to cup his jaw.

“I had work to do,” Kei says, closing his eyes.

“You work too much. You forget to drink. You forget to eat. You forget me.”

“I could never forget you, Tobi. I need you too much.”

The corners of Tobio’s eyes crinkle as he leans down to place the gentlest of kisses against Kei’s forehead. His lips linger there, hot and soft against his skin, and Kei feels his headache melt away like magic. Suddenly he’s tired, so tired, and all he wants to do is curl up on the couch next to Tobio and watch a shitty movie. He needs this, this _thing_ that Tobio brings to his life: this sense of balance and grounding.

“Dumbass Kesha,” Tobio says, taking his other hand into his own. Kei looks down at their linked fingers, at the scars and calluses that mark both of their hands, at the way they fit perfectly together. “I am here. Let’s go home.”


	10. drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: listening to a heartbeat  
> For Kaa - go read their work [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaathefriendlysnekk)
> 
> This chapter takes place directly after ["the end is all that's ever true."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818424)

He struggles against the tide, surfacing briefly before being sucked back underneath the waves. This continues for an indeterminable amount of time. It feels like it could be hours or days or even weeks before Kei finally awakens. He's completely disoriented when he slowly blinks his eyes open. If he’s in bed, he should be in his loft. But the light is all wrong, for any time of the day. This place, wherever it is, smells funny. There’s an astringent odor in the air, like disinfectant, and it definitely doesn’t smell like home. The bed underneath him is hard, nothing like the comfortable one they share. He reaches out, trying to find Tobio, and something pulls against his hand. Kei looks down and sees tubes.

It comes back to him in a rush, and as his heart starts to pound with remembered fear and terror, he becomes aware of a rapid beeping noise. Some machine he’s plugged into is going fucking haywire. Abruptly, Nishinoya pops into view. Karasuno-kai’s medic is wearing bright orange scrubs and he looks haggard, his hair a limp mess and dark circles under his eyes.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, bruh,” Nishinoya says, reaching a hand up to poke at the monitor that’s losing its shit. 

It goes silent, but Kei’s heartbeat echoes in his ears, a pounding and rushing ocean.

“Tobi,” he tries to say, but his voice is dry and it cracks on this, Kei’s most precious word.

There’s nothing more important in the world to him in that very moment than finding out where the fuck _his Tobio_ is. Kei’s panting now, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, and he struggles to sit up. Nishinoya frowns, looking at him, and he produces a syringe from seemingly out of nowhere. He injects something into the intravenous line that flows into Kei’s wrist and things suddenly go fuzzy around the edges. His panic, like his heartbeat, ebbs and flows.

Still, Kei remembers. They’d been brokering a deal with Nohebi underneath one of Karasuno’s casinos when those motherfuckers had betrayed them. There had been a bomb. Kei remembers _flying_ , and he remembers _crashing,_ and he remembers his beloved shugosha looking like he was planning on doing something really fucking stupid when all Kei could do was beg him to stay.

 _Tobi,_ he tries to say again. His eyes lock onto Nishinoya’s pleadingly. _Where is my Tobio?_

“You’re going to be okay,” Nishinoya says, as if he’s trying to reassure him.

Kei could give two shits and a fuck about whether or not he’s going to be okay. 

_Tobio, Tobio, where is my Tobio? Give him to me, you have to give him to me,_ he wants to demand, but his lips are moving so slowly and his words are slurred beyond comprehension. 

He refuses to allow himself to think of the possibilities, because he actually _will not_ be okay if his Tobio is not. Kei struggles to sit up again, and as Nishinoya watches, perplexed, he rips the line out of his arm. It doesn’t hurt, but blood wells up.

“Stop that!” the medic snaps, looking shocked. 

Kei reaches up and grabs the collar of the stupid fucking gown he’s wearing. He tears it off his neck, revealing the irezumi over his heart. It’s his latest ink, a blue-eyed crow perched on a crown, its wings flaring protectively across his chest. Both the crow and Kei glare at Nishinoya, who finally seems to get a fucking clue.

“Kageyama’s alive,” he informs Kei, who suddenly feels as if he can breathe again. He sinks back into the bed as Nishinoya continues, “but he’s in rough shape. He’s still sedated. Do you want to see him anyway?”

He gives the medic his best scathing _no fucking shit, dumbass,_ look. To his credit, Nishinoya looks somewhat abashed as he says, “I should have realized. My bad, bruh. Let’s go.”

Even though he’s all of five foot whatever, the medic expertly wheels the bed out of the room. Kei closes his eyes rather than look at the lights above him as they move. Their destination is a few doors down, and Kei immediately fixates on Tobio as soon as he’s wheeled into the room.

His shugosha is a pale figure tucked under white sheets. Multiple lines run from his body and he’s intubated, a machine helping him breathe. Kei’s heart clenches when he sees him. It's a terrifying sight; Tobio has never looked this helpless in his life. Kei wants to gather him in his arms, to hold him and protect him even if he is just a saiko-komon and Tobio is the actual fucking shugosha. 

“Multiple gunshot wounds,” Nishinoya says. “He came down the hallway like a bat out of hell, Kei. Killed more than a dozen of them to clear the path for me and Asahi. Wouldn’t let me touch him til I went for you.”

 _Will he be okay?_ Kei wants to ask, but he can’t say it.

Nishinoya parks his bed right next to Tobio’s. His hand trembling, Kei reaches out. He fumbles, touching Tobio’s shoulder, feeling the warmth underneath his palm. 

_I need you, Tobio, you can’t leave me,_ he thinks, but he can’t say that, either. 

His tongue refuses to work and he’s tired, so very fucking tired. Nishinoya points at a monitor, and Kei becomes aware of a steady beeping sound, similar to the one that the medic had silenced in his own room. 

“His heart, Kei. He’s going to be okay.”

 _That’s not his heart,_ Kei wants to protest, groggy and fighting whatever the fuck drug it was that Nishnoya had injected him with. _I am._ _  
_ It’s his last thought before he gives back in to the siren song of sleep, slipping under the waves once more.

The first thing he notices when he awakens again, some hours or days or months or years later, is the soft beeping sound. The second is the weight on his hand, and the warmth. Kei opens his eyes and looks directly into Tobio’s. They’re a little hazy, but they’re so very blue that Kei is immediately drowning in them.

“Kesha,” his shugosha says, his voice low and rough with disuse, “I am here.”

 _l love you,_ he thinks, but he's unable to say it. It doesn't matter; the exact words are unnecessary.  
  
“You always are,” Kei croaks instead, and Tobio’s fingers tighten around his. The meaning is the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/kelidahauk) if you haven't already and feel free to slide into my DMs... I love talking with you hookers. Wait. Only if you're 18+ though. If you're younger than that, you shouldn't be reading this nastiness, anyway.
> 
> We have a TKKG Thirst Discord server! [Come join us to chat about TKKG!](https://discord.gg/7wGBcyH) Only 18+ and older, please; there is a lot of NSFW content there.


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